


Pretty, Pretty, Pretty

by lunadesangre



Series: Between the Lines [5]
Category: Oz (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-05-23
Updated: 2011-05-23
Packaged: 2017-10-20 14:20:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,169
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/213683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lunadesangre/pseuds/lunadesangre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Adebisi fantasizes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Pretty, Pretty, Pretty

**Author's Note:**

> Any pornographic clichés about the hugeness of Adebisi’s dick and the tightness of Ryan’s ass are there _because this is Adebisi fantasizing_. Of course he'd think of his dick as huge and obsess about the virginity of Ryan’s pretty white ass.

Little Schibetta, from behind, looks a lot like O’Reily. That’s what makes him do it, really.

Of course, if it _was_ O’Reily, Simon would fuck him face to face, to see the look in those pretty green eyes as he slammed his dick into that pretty little ass.

That _virgin_ pretty little ass.

O’Reily would be enraged and hateful and scared, and he would try to fight him, but Simon would catch those skinny wrists and hold them above the pretty Mick’s head, spreading him backward on the table.

He’d only need one hand.

He’d rip off O’Reily’s kitchen whites with the other, getting him completely naked, to better see him twist and panic, to better mark him.

He’d pin that naked skinny body with his own to pull his dick out of his pants, and then he’d bring the pretty Mick’s wrists down toward him to pull that pretty white body on the table, to bring that tight ass flush against Simon’s cock, catching those long legs before O’Reily could kick him and trapping them with his arms, spread opened and bent at the knees, and Simon would be _so_ hard by then he would just align his throbbing dick with the pretty boy’s virgin asshole and _slam_ balls-deep in that pretty ass in one go, and oh, how O’Reily would _scream_.

He’d be _so_ tight it would almost be painful for Simon too, but that wouldn’t slow him down, and the blood would make it all the more sweeter, O’Reily’s asshole spasming around his cock, forced to painfully stretch and give way at each thrust in, involuntarily clinging tightly at each thrust out.

He’d fuck the pretty white boy harshly, violently, fast and deep, and O’Reily’s whole body would move with the force of Simon’s thrusts, painfully chaffing against the table with the ruthlessly fast pounding, trapped by Simon’s grip on his wrists and Simon’s arms around his bent legs in a painfully arched position impaling him on Simon’s cock, pressed down by Simon’s weight, unable to escape Simon’s huge black dick ripping his tight little white ass open over and over again.

The pretty Mick would be shaking by now, uncontrollably, gasping, unable to breathe, whimpering each time Simon’s cock pulled at his insides. His head would be thrown back in pain, denial, those pretty green eyes wide-opened involuntarily, slightly glassy and wet, hateful rage struggling not to give way to overwhelming pained fear.

So pretty.

Simon would bite the side of his throat, _hard_ , just right of his windpipe, and shoot his load deep in that pretty white ass, but he wouldn’t pull out yet. He’d stay there, balls-deep in, feeling the tremors of O’Reily’s asshole around his dick, listening to his panicked gasping breaths as Simon wrapped a hand around that pale throat, squeezing slightly to see the terror take over those pretty eyes, feeling one released skinny arm weakly try to push him off.

He’d be hard again in no time.

He’d take his time, thrusting hard and deep while rolling his hips, and he’d find O’Reily’s prostate, and the pretty boy would make a choked sound, half a whimper and half a scream, muffled by Simon’s hand around his throat, impeding his breathing.

Simon would hit it over and over again, _pounding_ , deep in that sweet ass, still so tight but slick with blood and Simon’s own come, and watch as O’Reily would flush slightly, hardening involuntarily, humiliation creeping in his pretty green eyes. He’d shut them tight, and a few tears would escape, from sweet pained shamed rage.

Simon would squeeze his throat harder, still harshly thrusting against his prostate, and O’Reily’s head would be thrown back again, trying to escape, his free hand clawing uselessly at Simon’s larger one, his mouth opened wide, gasping, choking.

Simon would release his throat suddenly and the pretty Mick would come with a sweet breathless scream, his back arching, writhing and twisting his skinny body and clenching his abused asshole around Simon’s dick, and Simon would catch that bony wrist back and pull that pretty white body tight down on his cock by the arms, forcing O’Reily’s back in a painful arch, pounding in that sweet ass with all his strength, his balls slapping against the pretty boy’s skin, thrusting over and over again as O’Reily orgasmed against his will, slamming in faster and faster, deep and ruthless, as the pretty Mick was reduced to pained choked whimpers synced with the brutal rhythm of Simon’s hips, body unconsciously loosening from his orgasm, becoming limp and soft and pliable to Simon’s use, head turned upwards to one side, eyes still closed tightly, trying to hide, choking back sobs.

So pretty.

Simon would give one deep, especially brutal thrust against his pretty boy’s prostate, causing a sweet sob to escape, and would harshly pull out, immediately grabbing O’Reily by his hair to yank him up in a painful half-sitting position, his skinny body only saved from falling on the floor by Simon’s large one pressing him back against the table, those long white legs flopping limply on either side of Simon’s hips. His pretty Mick’s face would be damp with sweat and tears and O’Reily would have bitten through his lower lip, his pretty green eyes wide with fear and sudden confusion, the rage chased away by despair, and Simon wouldn’t give him time to comprehend before he came all over that pretty face.

So pretty.

Afterwards... Simon would enjoy keeping him.

He would enjoy owning him, breaking him even more, enjoy fucking him any way and any time he pleased, enjoy making his pretty pet choke on his cock, enjoy the sight of his big black dick sliding past those pretty pink lips, the pained grimace on his white boy’s face as it hit the back of his throat, the involuntarily frantic swallowing, breathless panic, and desperate efforts to escape as Simon would ruthlessly face-fuck him, holding him with his nose buried in Simon’s pubic hair by his pretty wavy brown locks...

...if he wasn’t so sure that O’Reily would bite him. Downright rip something out with his teeth, actually, be that Simon’s cock or Simon’s throat.

No, his Mick is as pretty as he is dangerous, and Simon would have no choice but to kill him.

And then... There would be no more of those pretty green eyes, that sharp mouth and that skinny body.

Simon would miss looking at him.

Simon would miss _him_. His pretty eyes, his pretty face, his pretty body and his pretty mind.

So he looks and doesn’t touch, and finds distractions to pass the time. Bellinger. Schibetta. Jara. Napa. Wrangler. McManus. Hughes. Mobay. Arif. Querns. Said. None that could ever compare to his pretty Mick.

But no matter what, O’Reily is too pretty to spoil, so Simon keeps him close and simply grins at him at odd intervals, thinking _pretty, pretty, pretty_.

He’ll never have him, but that’s alright. No one will ever have this one.

Too pretty.


End file.
